


Thanatophobia

by jynx



Category: Avengers (Comics), Dark Avengers (Comic), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Medical Torture, Torture, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:32:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jynx/pseuds/jynx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony has a nightmare after he's captured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanatophobia

**Author's Note:**

> AU. Total AU. In the vein of “Tony never deleted his brain, Osborn caught him, and tried to get the info out of him one way or another” AUs. And it started as a dropped line from heworedecadence. And I incorporated some aspects of an RP so credit goes to her as well! Oh, and Steve never died, but. Yeah, he just....laid low during Dark Reign. Or something. Here is me hand waving and not caring.

Tony struggled against the thick black leather straps that kept him secured in place against the cold steel of the surgical table. He was naked and tied tight, by wrists and ankles, to an X-shaped table, leaving the doctors room to do as they pleased. The restraints were wide black leather, hard – and studded with bits of metal that dug and tore into the thin skin of his wrists and ankles. The temperature, kept somewhere right above freezing, did nothing to help the discomfort from the tight restraints. The room was lit by a single lamp off to the side, the light shining off the metal tray and the instruments that lay there, sterilized and ready for use. The rest of the room was dark with shadows, leaving Tony to wonder who lurked there. Every few minutes there would be a tick-tick-tick sound and then the blinding light from a camera's flash, but Tony couldn't see if it was on a tripod or if someone held it.

A man walked into the room, striding purposefully over to the single light and the steel tray. There was a hushed conversation that he couldn't make out, and then the man smiled at Tony. The man was not a doctor and had no right to be here. It was Norman Osborn, and he had a scalpel in hand.

“You will tell me all I need to know,” Osborn said, voice calm and even as he laid the cold, sharp blade against Tony's right shoulder at the end of his collarbone.

Tony tried to talk but his tongue felt like it was made of lead, his voice box paralyzed in terror. He couldn't speak, couldn't do anything to stop the madman about to cut him into pieces for information Tony couldn't hand over to him. 

“No?” Osborn asked. The serene little smile on his face made Tony break out in a cold sweat. “Well, all right, then. Remember, Anthony, you could have stopped this.” Osborn pressed down hard with the scalpel, slicing easily through layers of flesh and fat and muscle as he slid the blade down in the beginning of a classic Y-incision. Osborn leaned over, tie falling forward to trail in the blood that had begun to spill from the first cut. Swiftly, Osborn cut from Tony's other shoulder down to the middle of his breast bone where the other slice ended. “You could have stopped all of this, Anthony.”

The darkness of the room had concealed the walls before but suddenly a screen dropped down along the wall directly in front of Tony with a tight snap, like the sound of a noose snapping someone's neck, as a slide projector hummed to life. A sharp click, like the sound of a barrel of a gun being spun, sounded each time the slide changed. The pictures it showed had to be Photoshopped. They had to be fake. A niggling little voice in the back of Tony's head reminded him how very difficult it was to fake slides.

The images made Tony want to claw his eyes out to stop from seeing them as he silently screamed in denial. He was helpless to watch as the Mansion exploded and Scott Lang was killed by Jack and Clint... The sharp sound of the projector switching to the next slide and Stamford exploding, and then the news footage of him and Steve fighting each other. Steve, standing over him, a look of hatred in his eyes as he stood poised to decapitate him with the shield. A click-bang of the next slide, and Steve was being killed by the New Yorkers that had pulled him away from Tony. Click-slide, Stamford wasn't because of Nitro and the New Warriors, but because the housing had cracked in his armor and the power core had exploded, killing more than just school children.

“See? Look at all the damage you cause, Anthony,” Osborn purred, voice soft as silk as it flowed over Tony, reminding him of shameful moments best left forgotten. “Look at what happens because of you.” The man smiled paternally at him and dragged the scalpel down to the top of his pubic bone. He set the blade aside and dug into the slices he'd made in Tony's body with his bare hands, pulling the sides of the incision apart.

Tony wanted to scream at the pain of his flesh and connective tissue being torn away from his body, torn from his bones themselves, but he still couldn't make a sound. He couldn't even move. There was a mirror above the autopsy table, letting him see everything in its bloody, graphic detail. Blood was pooling around his body on the cold steel table, slowly dripping off onto the floor. He could see his chest wall moving, could see his organs within his body cavity. He was alive. He was alive, but he wouldn't be for very long. Not even Extremis could heal him after this...could it?

Osborn spun away, blood flying off his hands as he did, to grab the power saw. He smiled gently at Tony, settling the saw against the top rib. “I'll give you another chance, Anthony. Stop this. Tell me what I want and we can stop this.”

Tony tried to open his mouth, tried to scream out anything and everything, to say whatever he could to make this stop, but like before, he couldn't speak. He screamed within his mind and tried thrashing about, but it was futile. No matter what his brain said to do, Tony's body just wouldn't respond. Had he been drugged?

Osborn turned the saw on and began to cut meticulously through Tony's ribcage, slicing through the bone like it was butter as the dust of ground bone flew around them. The vibrations from the saw made the teeth in Tony's head hurt and he couldn't help but inhale the bone dust, making him want to gag. The bone dust was getting everywhere – his mouth, his nose, and his eyes. Tony blinked rapidly, trying to dislodge the tiny particles and only succeeded in making his eyes burn and itch as his tear ducts released water to attempt to flood the dust out. He wasn't crying. The older man braced himself against the table near Tony's shoulder before he reached in with his blood stained hand and ripped the severed sternum from Tony's chest, tossing it over his shoulder.

“Your heart, Anthony,” Osborn murmured, reaching into Tony's chest and caressing his heart, as his other hand, slick with Tony's blood wrapped around his cock, “is your best feature. Isn't that what you dear friend, the Captain, used to say?” Osborn's hands on both pieces of Tony's body tightened as Tony continued to try to thrash and scream. God, it hurt, it hurt so bad that he could barely stand it and he needed to be free, to get loose, to get away from this man and his knives and his silky smiles and voice and God, Tony just wanted Steve to be here to stop this to make it go away because he couldn't do this he couldn't do it anymore it just wasn't working and it wasn't worth it and Steve had been hiding with the New Avengers while Tony's life went to hell and now Osborn was going to kill him and –

“Tony!”

– someone was calling his name and no one would call his name anymore because noonecaredanymore noonewantedhim he was nothingbuttrouble look at what he'd done to try and save everyone havetosavethemhavetosavesteveandpeterandmyfamilysavethemsavethemsavethem and all that had happened was that he'd been responsible soresponsiblelookatwhathedid hishishishishishisfailurefailurefailureuttercompletesincerefailure had made it possible for osborn to be in power to have this controlcontrolineedtocontrolthisicantcontrolthisicantihavenothing nocontrolnocontrolnocontrol over him over everyone over the entire superhero community and –

“God, Tony, c'mon,” the voice said again. “Wake up!” There was shaking with the voice now but Tony didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to see Osborn standing over him, feel his heart in Osborn's hand, his hand on his dick.

“Tony! C'mon, it's Steve, you're safe. Open your eyes.”

It was as if a bucket of cold water had been upended on him at that. He thrashed around in the covers, the sheets having pulled free at some point in the night to wrap tight around his legs and arm. He made a low, desperate noise in the back of his throat as he looked down at his body to the half-healed scar of the Y-incision.

It had been real.

“Tony?” Steve asked, concerned. He was sitting on the side of the bed, a hand on Tony's shoulder, warm and solid and there.

The nightmare had been real. Tony's stomach churned and he lunged for the trash bin the nurses kept at the edge of his bed exactly for this reason. He heaved into the bin, dizzy from the exertion, barely able to make out what Steve was saying as the other man slowly began to rub his back.

“Jeez, Tony...” Steve murmured once he was finished. “That's a little more violent a reaction than usual.”

Tony stayed like he was – twisted at the waist, half on the bed, half hanging off it. His chest ached because of the position he was in, but he was more concerned with keeping his stomach in one place and calming his swimming head. The bed moved as Steve stood and walked around the room before he came back, gently removing the trash can from Tony's clenched hands and making him sit up. A cup of cold water was pressed into his hands, an empty cup off to the side.

“Rinse your mouth. You'll feel better once you do,” Steve said, a tired note in his voice. Tony did as he was told, spitting the water into the trash can instead of the cup before taking small, careful sips. Steve had a damp towel in hand and was gently stroking Tony's forehead and the back of his neck with it. “You feel like talking yet?”

“No,” Tony said, voice harsh from vomiting.

“Extremis still glitching on you?” Steve asked, sitting back a little, towel resting on his thigh.

Tony looked around the hospital room and then down at himself. It was a nice room, comfortable, private. He was dressed in his own pajama pants, not one of those stupid flimsy hospital gowns, and his beard felt properly maintained. He'd obviously been here for a bit but he couldn't remember what had happened. He wasn't sure if he wanted to.

“I'm going to take that as a yes,” Steve said slowly, his voice weary.

“A problem has been detected and C drive has been shut down to prevent damage to your human. Please abort the program, reboot, and try again,” Tony murmured softly.

Steve snorted and shook his head, “Well, at least we know you're still in there. Need a quick rundown of events?”

“Please,” Tony said, looking at Steve with a frown. “Could we start with why you're here?”

Steve nodded and got up off the bed, not quite pacing around the room. “The other Avengers and I knocked Osborn off his throne three months ago. Two months ago, we finally gained access to the Negative Zone and started freeing people, which is where we found you. Apparently you had locked all the information he wanted in your insane little mind and weren't giving it up, so he was trying to beat it out of you.”

“Beat, cut, cut, beat, cut, cut, rape, cut, scream, kill,” Tony murmured, remembering flashes of every violent word that he spoke. Steve had gone a little pale at something he said, but Tony pushed it aside. “Y-incision from him?”

“I-- yeah, from him,” Steve cleared his throat, looking away and at a point over Tony's shoulder. Tony looked around the room idly, taking everything in as Steve unclenched his hands from fists and worked on slowing his breathing. “I guess it was his way of trying to cut the information out of you or something. You were in a cell in the Zone, barely alive, and we brought you here. You've been here, in various states of recovery ever since. Questions?”

“Is he dead?” Tony asked, his tone disinterested and mundane, as if he were asking some employee whose name he'd forgotten how their weekend had gone. The question had been asked almost as if Tony thought that he was expected to ask it, and not because he wanted to. 

“Osborn?” Steve asked and Tony nodded. “No, he's...currently in a prison med ward. I might have lost my temper after we found you.”

Tony stared at Steve.

The man had the grace to blush and rub the back of his neck, “What? You're still my friend, even if you are infuriatingly pigheaded and stubborn and--”

“We're friends?” Tony asked, voice hushed. “How?”

Steve shook his head, “Everything will come back later. As you said, your C drive hit a snag, but when you wake up in the morning, you'll remember everything again.”

“Or I'll be back on the table with Osborn and a scalpel,” Tony said faintly, looking at the walls of the hospital room. There was no screen that would slide down, no projector showing him images of his failures. He hadn't blow up half of the Eastern seaboard because of shoddy maintenance.

Steve reached out and grabbed Tony's hand, “I promise you, Tony, that you're safe. This is real. You're here, with me, in a hospital. We're rebuilding the Mansion. You're coming home in a week, and things are going to be okay. I promise.”

“I don't want to die,” Tony whispered, voice cracking on the last word.

Steve looked sad for a moment before he leaned over and unzipped his boots, tossing them in a corner of the room before nudging Tony. “Shove over a bit, will you?”

Tony stared at him, half expecting him to shift into a Skrull or something, but he scooted over to the edge of the hospital bed. Steve got in with him and rearranged them so that Tony was half lying on top of him, their legs twined together, with Tony's head on Steve's chest. They'd slept like this so many times before that Tony had to scrub at his suddenly hot and itchy eyes. Steve gently kissed his forehead.

“Things will be better in the morning,” Steve promised softly, arm around Tony's shoulders and holding him close. “I promise.”

“I don't want to go to sleep,” Tony protested, throat tight, trying to disentangle them. “I don't want this to go away. I don't want to go back to that.”

Steve brought his hand up to cup Tony's chin, making him look at him. “Tony, it's over. I promise. It's over.”

“It's over,” Tony repeated softly, looking at Steve. The other man was tired, he could tell. There were little smudges under his eyes, smudges that Tony had never seen before. Tony wouldn't have put them there if this was a dream. Steve would have been perfect. Steve was perfect. He nodded and settled against Steve, listening to the other man's heart. “It's over...”


End file.
